


Do Assistants Dream of Electric Sheep?

by PumpkinDoodles



Series: Taserbones Tumblr Prompts & Tiny (Adorkable) Fics [28]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Darcy Lewis is Tony Stark's Daughter, F/M, and that post about the person who thought Morgan Stark was a robot, imma warn you, this is a sad one, this is what happens when I read the synopsis of Blade Runner before bed, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:28:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22757068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: She was always too good for him, Brock Rumlow thinks. Too perfect. That's why he was so happy with Darcy Lewis--before everything went sideways.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow
Series: Taserbones Tumblr Prompts & Tiny (Adorkable) Fics [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1484168
Comments: 128
Kudos: 373





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *I own nothing!

Pierce was the one who caught him staring at Foster’s assistant during a big science gala attended by half of DC. Rumlow was acting as Pierce’s body man. “She’s Tony Stark’s daughter, too, you know,” he said, voice slightly low and mocking. At Rumlow’s look of surprise, he continued. “They keep it quiet. Of course Tony Stark’s daughter looks like that,” he added, then flicked his eyes at Rumlow. “Do you want to meet her?” he asked, clearly amused. Rumlow nodded, transfixed by the sight of Darcy Lewis in a curve-hugging red dress. “Come along,” he said, moving through the crowd. “Miss Lewis,” he said, “how nice to see you again, out and about, out of your father’s lab.”

“Mr. Pierce,” the woman said, shaking his hand.

“You look lovely--so lovely you’ve distracted my bodyguard, Commander Rumlow,” Pierce said. “Has your father listed you as a weapon yet?” he asked. She laughed--and eyed Rumlow appreciatively.

“I want him to,” she said, clearly delighted. “I did tase Thor,” she added.

“I heard,” Pierce said. “She has hidden talents, Brock. You might want to watch yourself.”

Only later did he remember the elaborate gallantry of Pierce’s introduction. A sign that Pierce enjoyed his little jokes. He was too busy staring at her. 

* * *

When he woke up after the building collapse, she was there. She’d been crying. “Please, please, Brock,” she begged, “tell me it’s not true?” He shook his head. 

“I didn’t know your father was on the list,” he said. 

“But you knew about everyone else?” she said, clearly horrified. “How, Brock? How?” 

“You were always too good for me,” he told her. He gestured to his burned face. “Now you know what I’m really like, sweetheart.”

“Is this what you are?” she said. He turned his head away and refused to say anything else. He listened as she left, crying. Her sneakers squeaked on the hospital linoleum. He’d thought about defecting from HYDRA, of course. Considered it as she slept next to him. Weighed his odds of survival. It seemed impossible to get himself out and protect her from Pierce’s revenge. So he’d stayed in. Stupidly. If he’d just switched sides, they might have a chance now. She was forgiving. Kind. And he could’ve gone to see Stark and explained it all, that she needed more security. 

He hadn’t seen the way through until it was too late.

She would show up at his trial, maybe. Someone would bring up where he’d slept the night before--before everything. Then the world would know about them. The media would come after her. It might destroy her father. Tony Stark linked to HYDRA. 

He had been a fool. 

There was one way he could think of to prevent that from happening. He escaped from the hospital that night. Liberated some cash from Pierce’s secret accounts. That was when he had time--hidden in a safe house--to look at Romanoff’s file leaks.

He was more than a fool, he realized bitterly. 

* * *

“You want to use Darcy as bait?” Tony said, horrified. “Bait to lure out Rumlow? No, no. I won't let you--” he said.

“Stark,” Fury said. “Thousands of people could die if Rumlow gets that biochemical.” He sighed. “You understand--”

“We’re in the business of wagering lives now?” Steve said, appearing in the doorway. He glared at Fury. 

“Explain it to him, Stark,” Fury said. He made to sweep out of the room, but stopped. “I understand how you feel about her--”

“Bullshit. You don't understand shit,” Tony said. Fury left with a significant look.

“Tony,” Steve said, “you don't have to do this. She's your daughter, for Christ’s sake, I don't know what he's thinking--” He stopped at Tony's sick expression. 

“I do know what he's thinking. That's the thing, you see. She's not my biological child--”

“So--” Steve interrupted.

“Be quiet, Cap. I'm trying to explain a science thing. A complex thing. She's my daughter,” Tony said, “like Dum-E is my kid, too.”

“What?” Steve said.

“Darcy. The DARC 1986. I built her in my lab, oh, fifteen years ago. Advanced robotics. Indistinguishable from a human being. I gave her memories and--and feelings. But Fury knows I can rebuild her if the lunatic she dated for a minute and a half sets her on fire--” he said, setting down a cup with shaking hands.

“You let her date?” Steve said.

“She has all the normal urges, Cap,” Tony said. “She wanted a life.”

“Tony--”

“She'd feel it if he kills her,” he said softly. “And even if I can stash her consciousness in the mainframe, that's no guarantee that she'd be the same after trauma.” The eyes that met Steve’s were glassy. 

  
  


* * *

He’d been waiting at the villa for two days. He looked up and she was standing there. Rumlow felt his hand clench around his gun. “Hello,” Darcy said quietly. He waited a beat, watching the expressions play across her beautiful face. 

“Did you miss me?” he asked. “Is that part of the programming? Like your eyes?”

“My eyes?” Darcy said. She was leaning against the doorframe now. Almost hesitating. Her expression was yearning. “You know?”

“Romanoff leaked the files,” he said. He smiled at her coldly. “Yours, too. That's the thing about your eyes. They're a little bit different,” he said. “Like a real person’s. It's a neat trick, ‘cause you're not a real fucking person, are you? I loved you so much. I gotta hand it to Stark, he does good--good work. I always thought you were too good for me. Too smart, too young.” He put his thumb on the trigger. “But maybe you're just too good. What'd you do for Stark, huh? The things we did, sweetheart---”

“Tony's my father. My real father,” she said intently. “And I loved you.” Her voice was a reprimand. She turned to leave, shoulders hunched. 

“Stop,” he said, cocking the gun. “Come here.” She'd frozen. Darcy turned. She stood there for a moment. Lifted one foot, then put it down again.

“Brock, I don't want to,” she whispered.

“But you gotta obey orders, huh? Do what people tell you? Isn't that the rule? So, c’mere,” he said. She moved slowly across the room. He pulled her into his lap. She was shaking. “They tell you to kill me?” Rumlow asked.

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “I'm not--I can't fight. I don't want to fight.” She was almost crying as he held her. He smirked through his shame.

“I know. You were always--always not like me, with your stuffed animals and your hot cocoa,” he said. “You don't have it in you.” He ran his hand over her thigh. He desperately wanted to kiss her. “You felt goddamned real, you know that? Inside. Your mouth. Your skin. Your smell--” His grip tightened. She gave him a pleading look. “The way you laughed at my jokes--”

“Brock, please,” she said, “I can't lie, or--or--”

“What, sweetheart?” he said. “You wanna make me pancakes again or something? Talk about adopting a dog together?”

“I'm not suggesting that you run.” She swallowed. “That you leave this room immediately.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Touch me,” she whispered, eyes wide. That was when he felt the detonator belt sewn into her dress. “I love you,” Darcy said, leaning in, “I loved you so much it made me wish I was real.” 

“Yeah?” He asked. She nodded. Her mouth was soft. He kissed her until she pulled back abruptly, crying. 

“If you were to go now, I would have enough recorded heat signature to loop it until the explosion,” she said. “There's an off-site black box linked to my cerebral cortex.”

He stared into her eyes.

* * *

The explosion had registered and the data had been fed to FRIDAY’s networks before Fury called. “Tony, I’m sorry--”

“You rigged my daughter up like a landmine!” Tony yelled. “And you sent her in to die. It's--it’s unforgivable,” he said.

“She volunteered, Stark. And she got him. Rumlow’s dead. We have visual confirmation of a heat signature and that he was in close proximity--”

“When she exploded? She felt that, she felt death. And she was alone, Fury. She was alone. I should have--”

“You did what you should have," Fury said.

  
  


Several days later, Tony lifted his head blearily from his desk. Someone was at his elbow. Someone wrong. “I don't like when people sneak up on me, it's rude,” he told the figure. He blinked. The figure swam, then resolved itself into the face of Brock Rumlow. 

“Sorry, Pops,” he said.

“You're dead. Did I drink myself--”

“Not dead,” Rumlow told him. “Just here for a favor.”

“I am so drunk,” Tony said, laughing. The laughter turned to weeping. “You want a favor? How’d you get in here?” He rubbed his eyes.

“I got him in,” a weak-sounding, staticky voice said. Tony jerked his head up. Darcy was standing at the edge of his vision, supported by Rumlow. She had a scarf tied around her head. Her smile was crooked.

“Darcy?” Tony said.

"Hi, Dad."

“She was a little hurt,” Rumlow said, “in the explosion. That's my fault. I coulda got the belt off faster. But you can fix it?”

“Yeah,” he said, standing up. “I can fix it.” 

“Dad, no,” Darcy said, for the second time. Her voice was back to normal.

“Just say the word, the whole security team’s here, he goes to jail--”

“We're going away together.”

“A whole life on the run? No Starbucks, no Christmas party with the Jonas brothers, you won't like that. Besides, he's a criminal--” Tony began.

“Technically, this is a crime,” she reminded him, gesturing to his hand. He was repairing her cranial circuitry. 

“How?” Tony said.

“You're assisting fugitives,” Darcy said.

“You were my kid first, before you fell for Squidward over there,” Tony said.

“And he's not doing that anymore, he's out of HYDRA, we’re going into hiding,” she replied. She'd said it several times. Tony looked at Rumlow. He was standing on the other side of the lab in a dark leather jacket and tactical pants. Watching Tony suspiciously. Darcy had shooed him away so Tony could work.

“I made a mistake when I let you like all those fifties movies with the greasers. This is completely Marlon Brando’s fault,” Tony complained. “And Johnny Cash, I let you listen to too much of that music. It's a bad influence on the youth. What did Sinatra say about Elvis being the music of miscreants?”

“Shhhh, you’ll hurt his feelings, he's very vain about the hair,” she said. “And he loves that jacket, I bought him that.”

“Of course you did,” Tony said. He sighed. “He's quitting the bad guy business, huh?”

“I think his priorities changed when a building landed on him. He wasn't even planning on robbing that lab. He was just waiting for me. Fury had bad intel. HYDRA’s fracturing and people are turning each other in to seize the hidden bank accounts--”

“No honor amongst Nazis, huh?” Tony said archly. Darcy made a pained face.

“He doesn't treat me any different, Dad,” she whispered, blinking. “It's a short list. You, Jane, him--”

“Shit,” he said, looking at the ceiling. He looked at Rumlow again.

“The scars are gnarly,” Tony observed. “He might be less conspicuous without ‘em." She nodded. "Hey, Crybaby, I’ll make you an offer?” Tony called out. Brock tensed.

“Yeah?” 

“One free session with Helen Cho in exchange for all your HYDRA intel, that sound good?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Is she all stitched up?”

“See?” Darcy said, when Tony mouthed his words with an eyebrow raise. He swiveled to look at the fugitive.

“This is advanced, delicate nanotechnology, not some third-rate sewing,” Tony grumbled. “Stitched up? She's a walking treasure, you know, like a Van Gogh or whatever.” Rumlow moved over. Darcy was smiling normally again and reached for his hand.

“Maybe next time you can make me a sunflower,” Darcy said. Rumlow made a pained sound as she squeezed his fingers.

“What?” he said. He frowned.

“She'd keep all her memories,” Tony said. “If she was a sunflower.”

“She wouldn't be the same if she couldn't talk,” Rumlow said, sounding aggrieved. “Or watch movies--drink coffee. Sunflowers don't have coffee! She'd be miserable as a sunflower. I forbid you to do that.”

“Oh, he forbids me?” Tony said. He looked from Darcy to Rumlow. “You can't just forbid me, I'm Iron Man.”

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!  
> TW: Endgame spoilers

They went various places. Brock took her everywhere he wanted to go when he was jumping out of planes for SHIELD and first saw southeast Asia: Ankor Wat in Cambodia. Bali. Thailand. Darcy, oddly, enjoys warm climates. He does not get so much as a traffic ticket. They are happy. They sneak back to visit Tony occasionally. Or video call. Tony likes video calls.

“You’re a bad influence on my kid, Old Stallone,” Tony said, by video one night. “She never pierced her nose when she was living at home.” He was walking Brock through a minor repair to Darcy’s shoulder. She’d gotten a nose stud. She could have small piercings.

“You don’t like it?” she said, frowning.

“It looks cute,” Rumlow said. “Don’t listen to him, he’s worn mesh tank tops in public.” That made Darcy giggle.

“Don’t laugh--hold on, doesn’t that make me the authority on bad fashion?” Tony asked.

“Sure, Dad!” Darcy said. “Besides, Brock is being good, he hasn’t even gotten so much as a speeding ticket--”

“I notice my name’s disappeared from the FBI’s list,” Brock said neutrally. “You know anything about that?”

“Nope. You must be slipping now that there are other criminals with more impressive resumes. Rotate your wrist a little--” Tony instructed through the phone. “That’ll give you a better angle, until we can get together and I can upgrade her shoulder socket. They’ve got better rotational tech now.”

“Are you saying I’m old?” Darcy said.

“Pep says a woman is never older, just more charming? I think that’s the word, right, Pep? Ow,” he said, as Pepper mock swatted him with a sheaf of papers. She leaned into frame.

“You look wonderful! You’re glowing!” Pepper told Darcy. Then she seemed to catch herself. “I shouldn’t have--” she said apologetically.

“It’s okay,” Darcy said quickly.

“You know, I think it’s a good thing he can’t just knock up my daughter with any of his evil super sperm--” Tony began.

“Tony!” Pepper shrieked.

“I was going to offer assistance. You know, IVF, but with cooler stuff,” Tony said. “If you want--?”

“I dunno,” Darcy said, looking at Brock.

“But any grandchild of mine needs to be born in wedlock,” Tony added. “I’m very firm on this.”

“My robot baby needs married parents?” Darcy said.

“Weren’t you a single father for, like, a decade or so?” Brock asked. He'd built Darcy before he and Pepper were a couple.

“Those were extenuating circumstances,” Tony said. “So, wedding first. Have you thought about planners? Because I know a great party planner--”

“Tony,” Pepper said. “Shut up.”

* * *

“You ready?” Tony said to Darcy, as the wedding march started. He looked nervous. Pepper had done a beautiful job of planning Brock and Darcy’s wedding at a historic library near the upstate facility. It had been transformed into an Art Deco space. Even the bridesmaids’ beaded dresses were pretty. Jane was visible through the little window in the door, beaming and looking like Louise Brooks in her mock-bob.

“Yeah,” Darcy said. She felt like only one thing was wrong: not seeing Steve and Sam Wilson amongst the guests. There had been a disagreement, apparently, but Tony didn’t want to talk about their fight. He wanted to focus on the wedding and Brock's quietly-issued pardon. Pepper had explained about Bucky Barnes and her grandparents. That had been awful. It had taken Tony weeks to recover from the psychological blow of the news and Rhodey’s injuries. Darcy thought Tony needed more time. She pushed away her worries. “The groom hasn’t run away, has he?” she joked. 

“He does have a shady look,” Tony said, grinning and stepping closer to the door to the room where the ceremony was being held. He looked back at her with a fond expression. “But he’s the right guy for you, Itty Bitty,” Tony said, using her first nickname.

“You’re coming around?” she said.

“He’ll be good,” Tony said. “And with the serums, he’s the only guy--well, the only guy besides that guy we’re not mentioning right now,” he said, “who will age like you do.”

“Well, that’s romantic,” Darcy joked. 

“You’ll have plenty of time together,” Tony said seriously. “You always want more time, but you should have plenty.” He took her arm. “That’s our cue. So, you don’t want me to object during that part--?”

“Dad!”

“Someone else should object, right? It’s weird for me to do it. What if I call Ian?” he said.

“Stop that,” Darcy said, looking directly at Brock when the doors opened and the music swelled.

The day and the honeymoon were so beautiful, she felt like she was constantly holding her breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It takes time. Years.

* * *

Brock was in bed when it happened. They were bickering. They have a happy marriage, a solid marriage, but sometimes, they bicker. Today had been one of those days: snarking back and forth, with more or less playfulness. Darcy was getting ready for bed. “Are you going to take forever with your hair?” he said.

“Bite me,” she called back from the bathroom, voice sassy. He was teasing her when he felt it, a strange taste in his mouth, like copper pennies. He thought it was a seizure for a second--he’d had one in the hospital once, heralded with the tang of copper pennies, back when Triskelion fell.

“Darcy!” he got out, before he realized his hand was dissolving. The last thing he saw was her terrified face. 

“Brock---”

“Darcy?” he repeated, when his eyes opened again. It felt like no time at all had passed. “What happened? Did I--” he said. That was when he realized the room was empty. The house was empty. She wasn’t there with him. 

Three days later, he found her in the ruins of the upstate compound, passing out MREs and water. When she saw him, she burst into tears. 

“Brock,” she said, crying into his neck. “I missed you so much. So much.”

“I’m back now,” he said. “I’ll never leave again.”

“Sometimes, you don’t have a choice,” she whispered, in a choked voice. “Dad’s gone--” 

“What?” he said, as she started to sob. 

For awhile, he and Darcy lived with Pepper and little Morgan in the cabin. “Morgan would miss Darcy if--if she just left,” Pepper told him. He nodded. It made sense. _It’s easier for you,_ his brain supplied, _they’re the ones who went through it._ A week after Tony’s funeral, a lawyer came to read the will. The estate was split three ways: Pepper, Morgan, Darcy. 

“It may be possible to contest...certain bequests,” the lawyer said to Pepper. “Legally-speaking, there are questions of standing.”

“Get out of my house,” Pepper said, furious. “Get out of my house right now!”

It was harder than he anticipated to live without his father-in-law.

Brock caught himself losing it and abruptly weeping at the tributes: the homemade shrines, the videos covered on the news, the street murals. Tony’s face. Tony’s voice, too. Usually talking about robotic civil rights, since, in the disappearance of the Snap, several companies advocated replacement populations of robots. Robots to wait tables, robots to take out the trash. Robots for...all kinds of things. Some of the things made him feel slightly ill.

While Brock was gone, Tony was the one pushing for better living and working conditions. Brock doesn’t know how Darcy holds up, flipping through TV channels and stumbling on videos of her father talking about her or their wedding. “Of course she’s a person,” Tony insists in one video, “if a corporation is a person, my daughter is a person, you got that?” he tells someone in a sit-down for _60 Minutes._

“There’s no difference,” he snaps at a reporter, who asks if he sees a difference between Darcy and Morgan when he’s taking Morgan to a ballet class. On the screen, Morgan looks up in alarm.

“What does he mean?” she says. 

Some people celebrate the end of the Decimation by throwing out their robots. 

“I have an idea,” Darcy said to him one night. “About what I should do with all this money, but I want to talk about it with you first,” she said, inhaling.

“Go,” Brock said. “Whatever you want, I’ll say yes to,” he added.

“Stop that, I want an unbiased opinion.”

“Well, ask somebody else, then,” Brock told her. He smiled. “So?”

“I want to start a foundation to rescue some of these discarded robots. You know, housing, maybe job training?”

“Great idea,” he said.

“I’m not crazy?” she asked.

“No,” he said.

"Nebula wants to help," she said.

"Good," he said. "You can be good cop--"

"Stop that," Darcy said. "Is she _that_ bad?"

"I saw Lang wet himself when she snuck up on him last week," Brock said.

“Remember when you said I wasn’t crazy?” she asked, a week later. “Tell that to CNN.”

“That guy can’t even win an election in Pennsylvania,” Brock groused, staring at the face of the smug ex-senator.

“Also, you’re a pervert with weird fetishes, I hope you know that,” Darcy told him. “You missed that part of his lecture.”

“Oh, I’m a complete sicko,” Brock said. “Come snuggle with me, I have some impure thoughts to share with you.”

“Yeah?” she said. She squealed when he picked her up and carried her to bed. He was more careful with her now, now that everything seemed so fragile. 

“I want to kiss you here--” he said, dropping a kiss between her breasts. “And here.” The slope above her belly button. “And other places that the senator would most certainly disapprove of.” He looked between her legs, then smirked up at her. Turned his head to kiss the inside of her thigh. She still tasted the same to him.

“Oh God. Get up here,” Darcy said, tugging his hair. He crawled up her body, kissing her teasingly. She wrapped her arms around his back as he moved.

“Are you happy?” he asked, as they lay together afterwards.

“Yes,” Darcy said, before he’d finished the sentence. Her fingers traced circles on his bare chest. 

“Despite everything?” 

“Because of everything,” she corrected, kissing him. “I’m always happier when we’re together.”

Without Tony, they've shelved any plans involving babies. 

  
  


* * *

“You’ll need a CPU replacement next,” Morgan said to Darcy, monitoring her vitals. 

“My yearly check-up,” Darcy called it, as Morgan went through college, her twenties, and parenthood in her thirties. At forty-eight, Morgan is as good as Tony was, maybe better, because Morgan has more delicate fingers and has never had a drinking problem. They’ve done it this way for decades: Brock, left virtual guides by Tony, does her minor repairs at home and she goes to Morgan for major work at SI. He jokes that he keeps her in good shape so people will think he has a trophy wife. 

“A CPU replacement?” Brock asked. “Is that serious?”

“It can be,” Nebula said, from her position against the wall. She was studying a stuffed toy that Darcy brought her as a joke. Morgan frowned behind her glasses.

“Don’t scare him,” Morgan scolded. “It’s perfectly safe.”

“It’s a brain replacement, essentially,” Nebula said. “A surgical failure can be catastrosphic.”

“Nebula,” Morgan said sharply.

“You should be honest,” Nebula said. 

“And without the CPU replacement?” Darcy asked. She glanced at Brock for a second. He knew what she was asking.

“It would fail slowly,” Morgan said. “You might have short-term memory deficits, motor issues, things like that.”

“Bot dementia?” Darcy said, breezily enough that he almost couldn’t hear the change. Nebula tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, though. 

“Just in the beginning,” Morgan said. “It would progress to complete systems failure.”

“How long?” Brock asked.

“Five years,” Morgan said, then rapidly started talking, “but there’s no reason to be afraid, Darcy. It’s safe. I can do this. You could have decades more life. The new CPUs are faster, better. And we do CPU replacements every week--”

“She’s asking for me, Mor,” Brock said gently. “I just met with my serum specialist last week. The Harvard guy.” There were so few serumed individuals left, he had to meet with a researcher in Boston who’d run tests on a handful of subjects for his post-doctorate. 

“I thought you liked the Harvard guy,” Morgan said.

“I liked him a little bit less when he told me I have serum breakdown,” Brock said.

“Deserumization due to aging,” Darcy said, “that’s the term he used.” He heard her voice crack a little. Across the room, Nebula’s metal parts clinked. Tense, he thought.

“What?” Morgan said.

“I’m pushing a hundred and eight,” he said wryly. “They weren’t as careful as Erskine about long-term consequences with the HYDRA stuff.” He paused. “I don’t have decades. Maybe six, seven good years, he says.” 

“Oh,” Morgan said, her face crumpling in a way Brock hasn’t seen since she was six. “So, you don’t want the new CPU?” she asked Darcy. Darcy shook her head, clearly trying not to cry. Nebula’s expression had gone blank. Brock decided to say something.

“For the record, I think she should do it,” Brock said. “And maybe you can freeze my head like Disney--” he said, before ducking the stuffed toy. Nebula had thrown it.

“You are ridiculous,” she said. 

“Yeah,” Darcy said, bursting into tears as he moved over to hold her, “he is.”

-The End-

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing! TW: sadness, just 'cause I don't typically do angst doesn't mean I can't, etc.

_Epilogue_

When he opened his eyes in the hospital bed, Darcy was brushing the hair off his forehead gently. “Hi, sweetheart,” Brock said. Around him, the monitors beeped steadily. 

“I was worried about you--about you,” she said. “You sc--scared me.” He’d collapsed at home. Again. He’d thought for a moment that might be it. 

“Who knew I even had a heart?” he joked. After several years of Harvard Guy predicting that his lungs would go first, it turned out to be his heart. They’d diagnosed him with end stage congestive heart failure a few weeks ago. Put him on more meds. He was too high risk for the transplant procedures. 

“I k-knew,” Darcy told him, smiling. Morgan had convinced her to stay around as long as he did. She agreed to let Morgan do patches and bug fixes and system upgrades to counteract her failing CPU. They’ve had eight more years. Reasonably good ones. It has become obvious to everyone who and what Darcy is, however, because her speech is a little buggy. She skips. Sometimes drifts off. She calls it “blue screening.” 

Also, everyone knows who Darcy is because Morgan Stark came down this floor after his first episode to remind everyone that she's Darcy's sister and one wing of the hospital has their father’s name on it. The nurses were unfailingly polite to Darcy and him now. 

Brock glanced over, through the glass window. Morgan was in the hall, talking to his cardiologist, expression stern. He’s grateful that Morgan got Pepper’s icy stare, now that he can't intimidate the shit out of anyone himself. He almost--almost--feels bad for those faked healthcare power of attorney forms they pranked Morgan with years ago. Darcy's said DNR for _Do Not Reanimate._ Morgan, sounding exactly like Pepper, had yelled at them. Friday had looped the footage with some of Pepper saying the same sort of thing to Tony.

He felt her hand in his hair again and Brock looked back at Darcy. “Is that so? You knew I had a heart?” he asked. She nodded. “C’mere, beautiful.” He patted the bed.

“St-stop,” she said. She climbed in carefully, settling in next to him. He studied her profile. Her beauty still has the power to unmoor him, even after six decades or so, give or take the Snap. Darcy, however, has been insisting for years that he’s given her crows’ feet. He’s never seen them. Not even now, in these terribly-lit rooms. He cupped the back of her head.

“Getting old sucks,” Brock whispered, kissing her forehead. “When they letting me go home?”

“S-soon,” Darcy said. He tilted his chin down curiously. Her first lie, he thought. Still. No reason to call her out, not after this long. Instead, he closed his eyes.

“Love you,” he whispered.

“Love you m-more,” she said. The last thing he consciously remembered was the weight of her body and the smell of her shampoo.

“It's t-time,” Darcy said softly to Morgan. The doctors had come ten minutes ago and confirmed he’d slipped into a coma. Morgan’s expression was serious. 

“You’re certain?” she asked. 

“Of course,” Darcy said, so firmly that she didn't stutter. “I-I'm going to s-stay with-with him for awhile and then you dis-disconnect my systems, okay?” 

“Okay,” Morgan repeated. She looked grief-stricken.

“Jane c-could--?” Darcy offered. Jane wields Mjolnir now and is off somewhere in the galaxy; Darcy hadn't wanted to cause Jane suffering, but she is sure Jane would do it, turn the disconnection switch, if asked. They last talked two weeks ago, when Brock was between episodes and Darcy could almost believe she was the one in worse shape. What had Loki said once? That Death liked tricks, too. “I c-could ask--”

“No,” Morgan said, with so much of Tony in her expression that Darcy's heart broke a little more. “I called them,” she added. 

“G--good,” Darcy said. She tucked herself back in bed with him. Morgan fussed with the blankets. The nurses made rotations. Jane and Thor arrived and sat by the bed. Thor held her hand and Jane tried not to cry. “I'm just--just a political science major,” Darcy reminded her. “Six-six credits.” It was enough to make Jane laugh through her tears. Faintly, Darcy could hear a television in the adjoining room. It was very quiet. Peaceful.

Darcy’d fallen asleep under his arm, so she didn't hear Nebula arrive. Or the sound of Brock’s monitors beeping and Morgan turning the switch. 

* * *

  
  


“I'm very sorry, Dr. Stark. You've made arrangements?” the cardiologist said, when he circled back. He looked at Thor and Jane and Nebula a little doubtfully.

“Yes,” Morgan said.

“Buried together, I imagine?” he asked. Brock and Darcy were still entwined. She paused. Nebula made a tiny sound.

“Cremated together,” Morgan said, as the SI security team appeared in the hall. Morgan had decided four armed men ought to be enough. She felt a horrible lurch as they detached the wires and rolled out the bed. Morgan let herself really cry then, sobbing into Jane's shoulder. Thor rubbed her back. 

“Who are these people?” Jane asked, characteristically blunt, as she gazed at the security team.

“Bodyguards,” Morgan said, wiping her face roughly. “Literally, Jane. Someone tried to steal Dum-E from the lab a month ago. My lawyer and my head of security advised me--I couldn't tell her,” Morgan said. “They--they advised me to have Darcy guarded and cremated when the time came. For safety. Thank God it’s what they wanted anyway.”

“We’ll go with you,” Jane said. Thor nodded, looking upset. 

“Whatever you need,” he said.

“Would you--I don't know what to do. Scattering ashes seems too much like abandoning them,” Morgan said. “But I feel like they'd get bored in my study. You know how they were--” she babbled. Jane held her hands and let Morgan have a moment.

“Do you want us to take some with us?” Jane said gently. 

“Yeah,” Morgan said. "Some." Nebula nodded in agreement.

“More adventures. They would like that,” she told Morgan, in her most comforting, emotive voice.

  
  
  



End file.
